


And if their Wings Burn

by Elfgrandfather



Category: Desert Peach
Genre: Canon Compliant, Caper Fic, Complicated Relationships, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Eye Trauma, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nazi Germany, One-Sided Attraction, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, Sleep Sex, Sort Of, UST, Valentine's Day, but kjars especially, can't think of a more accurate way to describe it :/, udo and kjars are scrubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrandfather/pseuds/Elfgrandfather
Summary: Two very different Valentine's Days for Udo and Kjars, nonetheless spent together.
Relationships: Kjars Winzig/Udo Schmidt, Rosen Kavalier/Pfirsich Rommel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	And if their Wings Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aquatics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquatics/gifts).



> Hi Aquatics! Happy Yuletide!
> 
> I severely underestimated how busy my postgrad would be, so unfortunately I wasn’t able to do as much research as I would’ve liked. I have a History degree and I love sprinkling details in my historical writing (a bit like Barr herself!), but I only really had time to re-read the comics. All this to say: sorry for any and all inaccuracies! Related to that, I'd love to do the sort of intermittent German present in the comics, but I'm hopeless at it, so it's severely reduced.
> 
> I’ve included as many bits of your prompts, remarks, and likes as I could. It’s hard to live up to the colourful characters Barr has created, but I’ve done my best, and I think I've managed to come up with a few passages that wouldn't be entirely out of place in a Desert Peach comic. I also included a little Easter Egg for you in Kjars's writing :}
> 
> Title courtesy of the late, great [Dietrich](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ky7FAtZDVp4), natürlich.
> 
> Edit: I had included the tag 'pure germanic male relations' as a dumb riff on the absurd "männerbund" (male bond) concept, assuming it would be taken as the joke I intended it to be due to the content of the story. I've removed it, because it's being taken at face value and that wasn't my intention. I apologise.

The ground was frozen solid. It stayed quite firm, even as dozens – hundreds? – of corn-fed, bright-eyed American boys trampled the area they now called their camp. Shifting his skinny frame from one foot to the other, Kjars was glad about the frosty weather for the first time since he’d come back to Europe. Standing in line for rations was humiliating enough, let alone if he’d had to slog through boggy soil.

Arms crossed, rubbing at his biceps to generate heat, his gloved fingers brushed the P.O.W. armband pinned to his greatcoat. A grim parody of the swastika he once wore with such pride. A cloud of vapour escaped his mouth when he sighed. When had that pride ever done him any good?

‘Next.’

Kjars stepped towards the table. No use reminiscing, speculating. He was here, now. And he was hungry.

‘Alone again, huh?’ Morton remarked, ladling a generous portion of soup into a metal bowl. In charge of doling out food three times a day, he was one of the few _Amis_ Kjars knew by name, and one of the few who treated him like a person.

‘ _Ja_.’

‘Shortstack AWOL?’

Kjars was still getting used to this bizarre slang, but it wasn’t hard to guess what he meant. ‘ _Unteroffizier_ Schmidt has fever. _Sein Auge_. Better than yesterday, but not much.’

‘You seen the doc?’

Morton handed over the first bowl and set about filling another. The heat radiating from the soup warmed Kjars’s cotton gloves, reviving his long, slender fingers.

‘ _Ja_. He has given _medizin_. Now we wait.’

‘That sucks,’ Morton said sympathetically, reaching into a supply box on the ground, ‘but this oughta cheer him up.’

Eyebrows raised, Kjars held out his unharmed hand to receive two tiny foil-wrapped squares, which he turned over in his palm with his thumb.

‘Pocket ‘em and take th’ other soup.’ Morton nodded at the long queue. ‘We got folks waitin’.’

Kjars did as he was told. ‘This is chocolate? _Warum_?’

‘You Krauts don’t celebrate today?’

Time started to blur as soon as they’d stepped foot in the camp. Morton was of Irish extraction, Kjars knew. Catholic. If some nonsense Papist tradition got him a free piece of American chocolate, he wasn’t going to complain.

‘What is today, _bitte_?’

Morton smiled.

\---

Udo felt every heartbeat in his wounded eye, and it never stopped being disgusting. The permanent _heat_ of his fever didn’t help. The closest Udo could remember feeling this clamminess, this full-body nausea, was the hangover from Hell the morning after his wedding – but he didn’t like to think about it. Remembering Africa just hurt more, and he definitely didn’t need to feel worse.

The tent flaps rustled. Great.

‘Sit up,’ said Kjars. The faint smell of meaty stew wafted over. Hunger pangs on top of everything else. Delightful.

‘Don’ wanna,’ Udo mumbled, burrowing as deep as he could in the American camper bed. He heard a groan, felt a tug at the corner of the blanket.

‘You know I’ll just rip that off you. And you need a bandage change. Sit.’

‘Is that an order?’

A pause.

‘Yeah.’

Udo emerged from his cotton cocoon, shakily forcing himself into a semi-vertical position. The inside of the tent was dark, illuminated only by the cold winter sun backlighting Kjars – a ridiculous figure in such a tiny hovel, like a stork in a foxhole. Udo smacked his lips, spat on the ground beside his bed. A lifetime ago, Kjars would’ve said something. But they were both so tired, like the weight of the war had suddenly borne down all at once.

Udo blinked his good eye. The world spun. But then, it always did.

‘What’s on the menu today? Truffles ‘n caviar?’

‘Gets funnier every time you say it,’ Kjars grumbled, placing the fuller bowl in Udo’s lap.

‘Can’t blame a guy for tryin’, _Hauptmann_. Far as we know, the _Amis_ feed us this crap and they’re sucking the marrow outta roast boar bones in the main tent.’

‘I thought you were supposed to be in pain. Shut up and eat your slop.’

‘At least it’s good slop,’ murmured Udo, ignoring the proffered spoon to lift the bowl up and drink directly from the rim. Kjars wrinkled his nose, which didn’t escape his Corporal’s gaze. ‘What? Uncivilised?’

‘ _Na_ , it’s pigs’ food. You might as well eat like one.’

‘I’m shakin’ like a virgin in Russki territory. If I used a spoon, I’d spill everywhere.’ He took a pointedly loud slurp, smirking. ‘Unless _Herr Hauptmann_ wants to feed me.’

Scoffing, Kjars got up from his squat and turned round to sit on his bed. What a thought! Completely against rank protocol, for one. Bad enough he had to nurse Schmidt because the camp doctor was a Jew with a bone to pick. Moreover, just the thought of – the terrible domesticity of it. Crowding by the bed, blowing on a brimming spoon, gently touching it to those plump, almost _girlish_ lips, feeling those shuddering breaths on his fingers –

Warmth flooded Kjars’s cheeks. He missed women. Miki. And today, of all…

‘Ah.’ Kjars reached into his pocket and tossed a foil package onto his neighbour’s covers. ‘We get dessert. Courtesy of Morton.’

It took Udo a second to process the object. Then a grin lit up his good eye.

‘ _Ami_ chocolate!’ He ripped the packaging off like a kid at Christmas and brought it up to his nose. ‘Hmm! Shit, not even ersatz! Almost worth the fucked face!’

‘It’ll be the cheap stuff.’ Kjars kicked the bottom of Udo’s bed when he noticed him nibbling a corner of the candy. ‘Hey! Finish your lunch first!’

‘Just checking it ain’t spoiled. _Mann_ , what a treat! What’s the occasion? They bump off Himmler?’

‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ Kjars mumbled. ‘It’s Valentine’s Day.’

Though it made his head pound, Udo couldn’t help snorting. ‘I guess we’re cuddling tonight, huh.’

Kjars clicked his tongue, but Udo could tell he was fighting to repress a fluster. Months of steady disillusionment and roughing it on the front had made Winzig a good deal less prissy, but tactical prodding at tender spots still got his hackles up. And Udo had sharp fingers.

‘C’mon, me ‘n your girl’re about the same size. I can see why you’re making a pass. I’m flattered –‘

‘You spent too much time with _der Alte_ ,’ huffed Kjars. He set his empty bowl aside and grabbed the medical kit. ‘I can see why _you’re_ making a pass. The way your eye’s doing, you can look at me and see your precious _Herr Oberst_ , no trouble.’

‘Nah, _Junge_ , tall, thin and blonde does not _Herr Oberst_ make.’ Cheerfully, though slowly, Udo shimmied further up and picked at the clip holding the bandage in place around his head. ‘Wouldn’t’ve had to teach you how to walk ‘n move right when you pretended to be him, otherwise.’

At least the blushing was staving off the cold. Kjars plopped down on Udo’s bed with more force than strictly necessary.

‘That’s – we don’t – we don’t play games anymore.’ He snatched the end of Udo’s bandage and quickly unwound it. ‘This isn’t _Africa_.’

Freed from its cotton constraints, Udo’s black hair fell onto his face, strands obscuring the wet gauze sticking to his skin. Kjars had seen this sight many times, had been changing these dressings ever since the fever turned Schmidt’s coordination to shit, but now, it gave him pause. The hand holding the bandage felt queer, the bullet stigmata piercing his palm burning as though freshly created.

It was true. This wasn’t Africa.

Kjars leaned closer and carefully peeled the used gauze off Udo’s eye. Ridiculous. What was there to get emotional about? This was real. It’s what he’d wanted. So what if life seemed brighter back then? So what if he missed knowing his place in the world, the righteousness of his cause and country? So what if Dagmar –

He knew better now. They all did. _Realpolitik_ or bust.

‘Eat your chocolate,’ he muttered, dunking fresh gauze in a capful of iodine.

‘Eh,’ shrugged Udo. He shoved it into his fieldpack, which lay propped up between his bed and the side of the tent. ‘Fever’s got my stomach doing flips. I wanna enjoy this. Save it for later.’

Udo’s tone was light, and Kjars cracked a tiny smile. ‘Not the first time I hear that.’

‘Yeah, well, we don’t have Tuareg brats sneaking ‘round to steal our goodies out here.’

‘I’ve got _you_ around to steal mine. I’m eating my share the second I’m done bandaging your sorry ass up. _I_ learn from my mistakes.’

‘You’re still sour about the _Lebkuchen_?!’ Udo laughed, ignoring Kjars’s gestures to be still. ‘That was –‘

‘I worked just as hard as you did to get –‘

‘—so fuckin’ long ago – oh, _just_ as hard? All for our _precious Herr Oberst_?’

‘I didn’t say anything bad about him! I talked about _your_ grovelling crush! He’s – he was a good leader. A great leader. I’m pissed you stole my _kuchen_ as a matter of _principle_ after you almost got us _killed_! Prin-ci-ple! I’m glad I helped _him_ have a good evening. Hold it.’

Udo held the fresh gauze in place while Kjars mummified him again. ‘You’re glad, huh? What d’you think he ‘n _Leutenant_ Kavalier did _after_ we left? ‘Cause it wasn’t talking race theory. I should know, I can’t count the times I slept next door while _Leutnant_ Kavalier fu—‘

‘You’re impossible!’ Kjars exploded, slapping a clip on the bandage to secure it and springing off the bed like it was on fire. ‘You try to say that I’m – a – a _pervert_ and then you go around talking about – _this_. If Morton gives me anything exciting in the future, I’m stealing your portion right away. Fair play for all your _tricks_.’

Smiling bright, Udo slid back under his blanket, mussing his hair to get any trapped strands out from where the bandage was pulling on his skin.

‘ _Ach_ , _Herr Hauptmann_ , have a heart. I’m bedridden. I gotta have my fun.’

‘Have it with someone who isn’t _me_ ,’ Kjars sniffed. He was starting to brew up a migraine of his own. How he missed that funny African tobacco! Even the stuff the Americans had on offer paled in comparison.

‘No can do. You’ll have to wait ‘til I learn English. Gimme the cold medicine, I wanna get some shut-eye.’

‘It’s not a sleeping serum. You shouldn’t use it when you don’t need it.’

‘I thought you’d _want_ me knocked out.’

After a beat, Kjars realised it was a fair point and tossed him the bottle.

Udo uncorked it, took a generous swig, and shuddered. ‘Hm! Just like _Mama_ used to make.’

Kjars cleared up the first-aid supplies and put the trash in his empty bowl. He slotted it into Udo’s, and quickly crossed over to the opening of the tent. He hadn’t been given any work since they’d got here, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. No piano to play, no paper to write on, and no underlings to nag. It was driving him crazy, and he hoped that showing up and offering his talents every day would wear down the Allied _Oberst_ enough to give him _something_ , even if it was just peeling potatoes.

‘ _Herr Hauptmann_.’

Kjars looked back into the gloomy tent, unable to even see more than a tuft of Udo’s hair against the small pillow. ‘What?’

‘Don’t keep me waiting too long, awright? I can’t get in the mood if it’s too cold.’

‘Next time I change your gauze I’ll fasten a bandage around your big wagging mouth,’ Kjars fumed.

‘You gotta wait ‘til I’m healed up for the kinky stuff!’ Udo called with a cackle. But Kjars had already stalked off, and Udo got comfortable to succumb to the soporific powers of the syrup.

\---

‘A Valentine’s Day gift?’

Udo looked from the shirts he was washing up to the impatient face of one _Oberleutnant_ Rosen Kavalier. Common affection for _Herr Oberst_ would always link them, but Udo was wary of talking to the man one-on-one – and this reticence usually proved out.

‘Yeah, he likes that sentimental stuff. Another British infection from his trips over there.’ Rosen looked around to make sure the coast was clear of any Desert Peaches, and continued: ‘Look, I’ve been in the doghouse since the thing with the new girl at The Cedars –‘

‘All due respect, sir, that kinda thing’ll keep happening long as you listen to your dick over your head,’ Udo said, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot on Pfirsich’s short-sleeved uniform top. Rosen crouched to get into his line of sight.

‘Jealousy don’t suit,’ he said playfully. ‘All ‘cause I got first dibs on the broad you’d been making eyes at…’

‘Who’s makin’ eyes? I’m a married man.’

Rosen yapped out a laugh. ‘And you skulk ‘round the whorehouse ‘cause you love their tea.’

‘Would you believe it?’ Udo replied, matching Rosen’s roguish grin. The pilot clapped a matey hand around his back, pulling him in like a co-conspirator.

‘C’mon. I booked out his favourite place, and the owner guaranteed an all-out romantic fuckin’ bonanza. Candles, wine, Egyptian cotton in the bed upstairs –‘

‘Don’t need the details,’ Udo cut in.

‘—the works. I just want you to grease the engine. Help me out with the details. You know all his routines and whatever’s in that pretty blonde head of his. You’re a theatrical little guy, Schmidt. So stage manage.’

Suds ran down Udo’s arms, dripped onto the rocky ground. It _did_ sound like fun… but nothing was simple in the 469th, and he couldn’t shake the feeling things were bound to jam up _some_ how. Still, Rosen sensed him dithering, ripe for a tactical strike. He squeezed Udo’s shoulder.

‘You’re not doing _me_ a solid. It’s for Pfirsich.’

‘I know _that_.’ Udo rolled his eyes and pulled out of Rosen’s grasp to finish his task. ‘ _Mann_ , I just wish you wouldn’t – upset ‘im like that. Y’know he’s sensitive. You get to fly away from the worst of it, but I’m the one’s gotta deal with his moods.’

Well, “moods.” He got sad. And that was worse. That squeezed Udo’s heart like nothing else did.

‘Yeah, yeah. I’m a changed man. You in or not?’

The ensuing silence was broken only by the rhythmic sound of cloth on washboard and the distant cries of bored soldiers getting up to no good. Rosen spun on his heel with a dramatic sigh, making a big production of walking away, when –

‘ _Lebkuchen_.’

Rosen look back quizzically. ‘ _Lebkuchen_?’

Udo stood up and adjusted the brim of his cap. ‘ _Na_ , _Herr Oberst_ was tellin’ me about traditions ‘n stuff from his neck of the woods. _Lebkuchen_ ’s a big deal down there, like around Nuremberg. They got all different kinds with spices and candied fruit and they bake ‘em into heart shapes and write stuff on ‘em to give to broads for Christmas or Oktoberfest. If this Valentine’s Day thing ever catches on back home, they’ve got a surefire hit on their hands.’

When Rosen and Pfirsich were having a tiff, it wasn’t a bad idea to distract him with chatter about the Old Country. Udo had done just that during a recent trip to town, where everything seemed to be reminding Pfirsich of his daredevil darling. A quick plea and a bat of the eyelashes had convinced _Herr Oberst_ to stop at a bar before heading back to camp, and as luck would have it, a crafty so-and-so had managed to divert a case of _doppelbock_ lager, which the barman was selling at a premium exclusively to Germans wanting a taste of home – a premium which hardly stood a chance against Udo’s well-developed haggling muscle. Soon, Pfirsich alternated between stories of home – boozy bacchanals, charming little towns, these _gorgeous_ cakes Udo simply _had_ to try when he came to visit once this silly war was wrapped up… and musings on Rosen with a sad little smile that made Udo’s gut itch something fierce.

If Rosen wasn’t so good at making Pfirsich happy – most of the time – Udo’d have half a mind to give the his _stuka_ ’s engine a sneaky vasectomy before he headed out on his next mission.

Well, anyway.

Rosen regarded Udo with a grin.

‘I can definitely wrangle some of the ingredients. Lose a supply crate.’

‘And anything else, we can find here.’ Udo put his hands on his hips, proud. ‘Kruger’s a whiz with all that girly cake crap. Bring the _herzkuchen_ to your date, find someone to play somethin’ jazzy on the piano, an’ _Herr Oberst_ ’ll as good as melt.’

‘We just might keep you around as a house pet after all!’ he said, knocking Udo’s cap off with a ruffle of his coarse black hair.

‘Hey!’ Udo elbowed Rosen hard in the ribs, the blow unfortunately cushioned by sturdy brown leather. ‘You want my help or not?!’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Rosen said lightly, dodging out of the way. ‘Tell Kruger to expect a bonus with tomorrow’s delivery, and get ready for Saturday. If you fuck up, I’ll have your guts for garters. _Ciao_!’

With an over-the-shoulder wink and a flick of the wrist, Rosen Kavalier darted off to where he’d parked and camouflaged his beloved plane. Udo blew a raspberry in his direction, and turned his attention back to the laundry. He wanted to have it done before _Herr Oberst_ came back from visiting his brother. After that, he’d talk to Kruger. It was all on a pretty tight schedule, but he’d make it fit.

As he scrubbed a shirt, he smiled to himself.

Saturday, huh?

He could think of worse ways to spend Shabbes.

\---

 _The_ Leutnant _~~breathles~~ ~~storm~~ breathlessly stormed into the medical tent. There, sitting on the edge of a __grimy_ _gurney sat his deflated private, ~~bare for all to~~ shirtless and covered in deeper and lighter scratches that wept ruby tears down his pale trembling flesh. How the sight of those wounds made his blood boil!_

 _‘How could those cowards do this to you?!’ Herzsprung growled with Teutonic rage. And of course they were between medics… as always forgotten by the Fatherland in this savage part of the world… thankfully, the Leutnant was well-versed in First Aid, having patched himself up more times than he cared to remember in those_ _treacherous_ _trenches that had earned him the medals that gleamed on his chest even now; medals which now reflected the shameful_ Gefreiter _’s brimming tears…_

_‘ ~~I’m sorry~~ Herr Leutnant…’ Schultz moaned._

_‘Schultz!’ Herzsprung ejaculated, taking his_ Gefreiter _’s shoulders roughly (but carefully so he didn’t hurt him). He thought about saying men shouldn’t cry, but as there were no civilians_ _or women_ _present, letting their hearts speak the language of the männerbund was OK. ‘Did they hurt you that badly?!’_

_The long, ebony eyelashes that framed Schultz’s ~~chocolate~~ almond eyes sent tears cascading down his cheeks as he blinked hard to try to keep them in and shook his head._

_‘I’m sorry, Mein Herr, I’ve let ~~the Reich~~ you down…’ Schultz sobbed._

_‘You could never!’ Herzsprung cried._

_‘I must! The assignment –‘_

_‘Damn the assignment!’ Herzsprung snarled. ‘You’re alive,_ ~~Gefrei~~ _Ulli. That means more to me than any assignment could.’_

‘ _Herr_ Leutnant _!’ Schultz gasped._

 _‘You almost ~~died~~ perished,’ Herzsprung whispered. His hands ran down the shivering Private’s thin, hard arms. ‘No “_Leutnant _” tonight. You may call me by my first name.’_

_Schultz’s pink tongue nervously moistened his plump lips, uncertainty clear in his faithful eyes… though he trembled, his_ _ white _ _skin was hot to the touch. His small, rough hands clasped the olive lapels of Herzsprung’s_ _ decorated _ _jacket to pull him closer…_

_‘Thank you, ~~Kjars~~ _________

Kjars took a deep drag from the cigarette clenched between his lips and furiously scribbled out what he’d written. The last few weeks hadn’t been kind to our intrepid writer. He’d been optimistic, at first – things were unusually quiet for the 469th, perhaps owing to a certain Officer’s spat with his… friend. Jeff had gifted Kjars reams of paper with a grin Kjars interpreted as encouraging. All the conditions seemed perfect for the continuing adventures of Winzig’s brainspawn. He was even at a good bit of the story! The heroic conquest of the European South! Perhaps that’s why everything he jotted down turned out a little… _Greek_.

‘Why does this keep happening,’ he muttered, crumpling up the offending page. Not that there was anything _wrong_ with what he wrote, of course. It was a depiction of the pure and purifying bond of camaraderie only two men could share (regardless of Jeff’s childish comments). But it – it was _out of character_. That was the issue. Schultz went past loyalty and dependence and into snivelling sycophancy. Totally wrong. That was the issue. Nothing else.

… maybe he shouldn’t have sworn off The Cedars for the New Year.

Sighing, Kjars blew out his cigarette, saving the rest for later, and replaced it with one of the lickies he’d rolled with that local green tobacco. Those always picked him up when he was feeling frustrated.

As he brought a match up to light his new smoke, considering how Schultz and Herzsprung could better react to their plight, a speck caught his eye. It was noon, lunch time, and unseasonably hot for February. Who on Earth would be buzzing around camp at top speeds now?

‘I can take a guess,’ Kjars grumbled to himself, squinting to focus on the figure. He’d become all too familiar with that particular gait. So familiar, in fact, he could distinguish when it took on a sneaky quality, as it did now. What was Schmidt doing, creeping around the supply tent? Kjars glanced toward the cooking area, noting Lt. Zachs eating his meal. What was Schmidt doing, creeping around the supply tent when the man in charge of it was having lunch?

Causing trouble, no doubt. Well, not on _his_ watch.

Sweeping his paper and pencil under a bush, Kjars jumped to his feet.

\---

Kruger agreed to the idea almost instantly, only putting up the faint resistance required by his surly demeanour. Udo could tell he was excited at the thought of flexing his culinary muscle, especially for the Old Man, who was probably the only person the churlish cook actually liked (well, tolerated). He’d written up a list of everything he needed, which Udo had passed on to Rosen. One day later, he was in the supply tent, bent over a crate of supplies, digging through bags and cans until he found –

‘Ah-hah!’ he said, seizing a brown parcel hidden under tinned vegetables. A tear in the paper revealed a cornucopia of goodies; flour and sugar and eggs and even _real_ chocolate… along with a card bearing Rosen’s squiggles.

_Couldn’t get honey, cinnamon & couple other things, good luck!_

Udo couldn’t find it in himself to get annoyed. The plan was coming together surprisingly easily. Tunisians loved decadent desserts. He’d be able to find the missing ingredients at the local market. Humming a jaunty tune to himself, he tucked the parcel under his arm and swept the supply tent’s flap aside with one hand.

Only to reveal a very sceptical-looking Kjars Winzig.

‘ _Jesus!_ ’ Udo yelped. ‘What’re you doing ‘round here? It’s lunch time!’

‘Are you serious? What are _you_ doing here?!’ Hands on his hips, Kjars pointed his chin at the bundle. ‘And what’s _that_?’

‘None of your business!’ Udo said, quickly hiding the parcel behind his back. ‘It’s for _Herr Oberst_.’

‘Oh?’ Kjars raised an eyebrow and started to turn around. ‘We’ll see about that –‘

‘Don’t tell him!’ Udo pulled Kjars’s sweater, holding on when Kjars smacked his hand.

‘So you _are_ doing something forbidden! Just can’t resist, can you?’

‘What’s _that_ mean? I’m just as good as you! Prob’ly better!’

‘You’re stealing from your unit!’ Kjars shouted.

‘Shaddup! I ain’t doin’ nothin’ like that!’ Udo released his grip on Kjars, motioning for him to pipe down. Kjars hesitated. It wasn’t like him to try and stifle a fight. He was like Schultz, in that way – passionate.

Wait, no. Schultz and Schmidt were nothing alike.

‘Okay, well, what _are_ you doing, then?’ Kjars asked.

The 469th was full of blabbermouths. Udo didn’t want the plan to go beyond anyone who _needed_ to know, which is why he’d gone behind Lt. Zach’s back, and he really didn’t want to tell _Kjars_ of all people…

But. He needed to get to the market. And Kjars had a motorcycle.

‘Lt. Kavalier wants to do somethin’ for _Herr Oberst_ , for Valentine’s Day. Kruger’s making _Lebkuchen_. That’s what this is for.’ Udo peeled back part of the wrapping to show the ingredients and Rosen’s note.

‘Valentine’s Day… another degenerate Anglo import,’ Kjars sniffed. The tension left his frame, and his shoulders sagged to a more natural position. Good.

‘It’s just an excuse to do somethin’ nice for someone you love. Not bad s’far as _Ami_ customs go.’

‘And are you doing something for that “wife” of yours?’

‘I’m always nice to her. And what she don’t know…’ Udo smiled boyishly.

Kjars rolled his eyes. ‘It’s almost enough to make a man feel sorry for her, even if she _is_ a savage,’ he said, making to leave. Udo grabbed the hem of his sweater again.

‘Hey. You think I could use your bike?’

Kjars stared at him.

‘Okay,’ Udo said, eyes to the sky, ‘don’t answer that. Can you take me into town? I gotta get these extra ingredients today if we want the _kuchen_ ready for tomorrow.’

‘Get a camel from your tribe and ride over,’ Kjars replied, snatching his sweater back.

‘You can play piano!’ Udo blurted out. Kjars stared at him again. ‘You know about the date. You’re involved now. You gotta take me to the market an’ then you can play piano at the dinner tomorrow night. _Herr Oberst_ loves to hear you play.’

‘You’re granting me the _privilege_ of being your private chauffeur _and_ of giving up my night off? Wonderful! Let me just go and check my calendar!’

Before Kjars could stride off on those long skinny legs, Udo darted in front of him. ‘C’mon. You love the piano. I know you wanna.’

Kjars frowned, colour dusting his sharp cheeks. He wished his secret hadn’t got out. Of _course_ he wanted to play – he so rarely got the chance to, let alone for an audience who’d actually appreciate it, someone _cultured_. His fingers twitched expectantly. But he couldn’t. Wasting the Reich’s petrol on this frivolous trip, working together with Schmidt, facilitating this extremely illegal and extremely degenerate encounter… he puffed on his cigarette, though it just made it harder to think, to make a rational choice.

Maybe he didn’t want to make a rational choice.

‘Come on,’ Udo insisted. ‘I’ll owe you one.’

Something about those words, that pleading tone – it struck Kjars. Made him blush. Gazing down at Udo, he could see how thick and dark his eyelashes were. How oddly soft his features, yet how unmistakeably masculine. Exotic, almost, like those girls he visited in secret at The Cedars. And he _had_ looked disgustingly convincing at cabaret…

He shook his head to physically dissipate that train of thought, and Udo dithered.

‘I mean, like, I won’t owe you _much_ ,’ He said. ‘Gas money. Or whatever it’s worth. But still.’

Kjars took a thoughtful puff of his cigarette. Raucous laughter erupted from the meal area, on the other side of the plateau.

‘Alright,’ said Kjars, tugging his cap firmly down onto his head. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Drive you over, play the piano. Whatever. What’s one more disgrace at this point.’

‘ _Klasse_!’ Udo grinned and darted off towards the “stables,” where all the vehicles were corralled.

Kjars caught up in a couple of steps. ‘Make it _quick_ , though.’

‘You got it,’ Udo nodded, flashing a thumbs-up with his free hand. ‘Our own lil’ _blitz_ , in an’ out in no time. Back before you know it.’

‘And _no_ funny business.’

‘No funny business.’

\---

There was funny business.

Udo sat in a corner, stripped down to the waist and sweat pouring down his back, watching Kjars wear a hole in the carpet. He wasn’t sure how Kjars was even managing to pace in this little tent, but a lifetime of grasshopper legs must teach you to make judicious use of space.

‘Siddown,’ Udo said, gesturing at him.

The guard outside glanced back at the first words exchanged in over an hour, but lost interest just as fast. He readjusted the rifle slung around his front, an old model that looked to be a British Great War relic, its wooden stock loudly clanging against the metal grip of the sheathed sword at his hip.

Kjars shot daggers at Udo. ‘Don’t tell _me_ what to do, you little _rat_.’

‘Hey!’

‘This is all _your fault_!’

Udo raised his fist, mouth open to protest… but, slowly, it drifted shut, and he shrugged. Objectively, it was kind of true, and it was far too hot in this sweatbox of a tent to argue. But the prices at that market were extortionate! And the guy with the best spices was being totally unreasonable, completely unwilling to _actually_ haggle. Could anyone really blame him for pocketing a couple handfuls of cardamom and cinnamon when he thought the shopkeeper wasn’t looking?

‘Look, whatever,’ Udo said, fanning himself with his cap to little effect, ‘just stop walkin’ around like that. It’s hot as Hell in here and you’re making it worse.’

Kjars sniffed and resumed his loop. ‘We’re gonna die.’

‘We’re not gonna die.’

‘They’re savages!’

‘They won’t kill us over a few spices, for Chrissakes. At worst, they’ll cut off our hands.‘ Kjars’s face snapped in Udo’s direction, and he chortled. ‘I’m kidding. We’ll be fine. We’re Germans.’

‘They didn’t even believe that!’ Kjars exclaimed, gesticulating furiously and powerlessly. ‘They think all _Christians_ look the same, or that we’re all in cahoots, or – or _something_ , and they don’t believe you’re German, so I can’t be German either, even though I’m – all because you look like some Semitic little –‘

‘Mama’s _Italian_!’ shouted Udo. ‘And we’re only in _here_ sweatin’ our asses off instead of halfway to Heaven ‘cause I’m married to Falila. Soon as they talk to her folks, we’re free. So, even _if_ I got us into this, we’re only gettin’ out ‘cause of me, so howzabout a little respect?!’

‘Respect?!’ Kjars marched over and snatched Udo’s cap.

‘That’s mine!’

‘Who’re you to talk about respect, huh? You – asshole! You couldn’t keep your sticky fingers to yourself and now we’ll be executed by some desert tribe all because you needed to satisfy your little _crush_ on Rommel!’

Kjars swatted Udo over the head with the cap. That was the last straw. It made Udo forget about the heat and the angst and the guard outside. He launched himself up like an alley cat, throwing his arms around Kjars’s skinny waist and headbutting him in the solar plexus. With the wind thoroughly knocked out of him, Kjars put up no resistance, and the pair crashed onto the carpet with a thud. While Kjars got his bearings back, Udo straddled his lap and pulled him up by the front of his sweater.

‘You don’t say nothin’ about _Herr Oberst_ , and you calm the fuck down, alright?’

‘Didn’t say anything bad about _him_ ,’ Kjars mumbled, blinking rapidly, trying to clear the daze, ‘just about _your_ grovelling _crush_.’

Udo blushed hard, feeling the sweat pool on his brow and drip down onto Kjars. ‘Like you treat Hitler any different! ‘Least _Herr Oberst_ deserves it!’

Kjars wriggled, but though his build matched Pfirsich’s, he didn’t have the same hidden strength, and adrenaline made Udo surprisingly powerful. They’d tussled before. The whole thing was familiar. He had Kjars pinned solidly to the ground, one knee either side of his hips, warmth and weight on Kjars’s body.

A lump rose to Kjars’s throat. It felt good. And it shouldn’t.

It definitely shouldn’t!

The burst of energy that panicked thought awarded him let him rock up, enough to destabilise Udo. Kjars used the momentum to throw Udo aside and mount _him_ , gripping his wrists before he could scratch and pummel, clamping his knees around his thighs before he could kick and scrabble.

‘Settle _down_ ,’ Kjars hissed. ‘I can’t believe you! Laying hands on your superior after getting him in trouble in the first place!’

‘It’s ‘coz you always gotta make some – damn comment or dig ‘bout me ‘n him, like you think you’re so much better –‘

‘And why’re you so defensive?!’

‘I’m not – I’m –‘ Udo babbled, struggling against Kjars’s grip. Of course he loved Pfirsich, but all his men did! It wasn’t anything – it wasn’t seedy or – it was normal! ‘I’m _loyal_! I thought Nazis fuckin’ – valued that! Maybe _that’s_ only true when you’re an actual _member_ , huh?’

‘Like you?’ said Kjars, mocking.

‘Sure seems like it!’

That damn fire in his eyes. It flared up whenever he thought about Pfirsich, and he could never switch it off. It made Kjars – _angry_. And it shouldn’t. There was a lot about Udo that _shouldn’t_. He shouldn’t be in Africa, in the army. He shouldn’t do so well for himself out here. He shouldn’t have those lips and those eyes and that dusty, dusky skin that felt so _pliable_ under Kjars’s pianist touch.

He shouldn’t _matter._ And neither should his – infatuation.

With a grunt, Kjars let him go and sat down, wiping the beaded sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Udo sat up and rubbed his wrists with a frown. They both breathed hard, the sound echoing through the tent, intercut with the jangling of the guard’s weapons and jewelry as he looked away from the two crazy Christian prisoners.

‘It’s too damn hot for your shit,’ Udo grumbled, snatching his fallen cap off the ground so he could go back to fanning himself.

‘Truest thing you’ve ever said,’ Kjars sighed, raking his fingers through his blonde hair and trying very hard indeed not to think about the funny feeling in his heart… and between his legs.

\---

In the end, of course, everything turned out fine. Falila and her entourage came to rescue her little Oo-do, and the tribe who’d taken the Germans prisoner was actually pretty nice about the whole thing, even gifting them a couple more bags of spices and a jar of the most decadently sweet honey to forge stronger bonds with the mischievous new Tuareg prince.

Pfirsich was bemused to see his orderly return to camp on camelback, escorted by a composite gang of veiled Tuareg and foreign tribal strongmen, flanked by a disgruntled Kjars Winzig on his motorcycle, but he handled the affair with characteristic grace. What his men got up to during their off hours was none of his business, as he so often said. And just as well, because it meant the first whiff he got of Rosen’s Valentine’s Day surprise was when the pilot led him into the booked-out restaurant on the night in question.

The owner of the place, partial to theatrics, loaned Udo a smart little uniform, consisting of an oriental-collar white shirt, black trousers, and a black waistcoat. When Rosen helped Pfirsich sit by sliding his chair toward the candle-lit table, Udo sidled up and set down two pints of _doppelbock_.

‘Your drinks, _Herren_ ,’ he said, in his best servile tone.

‘Udo!’ Pfirsich yelped, bringing a hand to his smiling cherry lips. ‘ _You’re_ our waiter? You look so handsome, dear!’

‘I do what I can,’ Udo replied proudly.

‘There’s a whole back-end to this operation you’ve got no idea about,’ said Rosen. ‘Wait ‘til we get to dessert. Oh!’ He rested his ankle on his knee, leaned back in his chair, placed one hand high on Pfirsich’s thigh and snapped his fingers with the other.

Though he’d argued about the demeaning nature of his cue, Kjars dutifully struck up his first tune, _Elsa’s Procession to the Cathedral_ from Wagner’s _Lohengrin_. It wasn’t his favourite, by any means, but it was one of the _Fuhrer’s,_ and one had to keep up appearances. Besides, it was a nice, classy start to the evening, and he’d ramp up to something jazzier… which he’d agreed to under protest, of course.

Pfirsich spotted Kjars at the piano, and his cheeks got even rosier. ‘My goodness! This is too much. I don’t quite know what to say!’

Rosen winked at Udo, silently mouthing ‘got him.’

‘There’s plenty more to come, beautiful.’ He kneaded Pfirsich’s thigh, grinning lustily, and whispered something in his ear.

‘Oh, Rosen! You’re awful,’ Pfirsich giggled, pearly teeth gleaming between those rose-red lips. Udo smiled, too, even though his stomach felt like a pretzel. And Kjars played on.

That’s how the evening continued, until the wee hours of the morning. Every once in a while, Kjars needed to take a break, so Udo brought him a beer and leaned against the side of the upright piano, waiting for him to finish and gazing at the lovers in the middle of the room. Rosen was murmuring in Pfirsich’s ear, lips brushing against his lobe, the side of his face, an endless stream of tiny invisible kisses.

‘Almost done,’ said Udo, contented. ‘Just the _herzkuchen_ left.’

‘About time,’ Kjars commented. He put on an air of disgruntlement, but privately, he knew he’d have to really make the most of these last songs. Who knew when he’d have the chance – no, the excuse – argh, when he’d _have_ to play the piano again. It _wasn’t_ a treat. Not when he had to play all this – degenerate music!

Kjars sipped his beer. It was a little stronger than he’d like, but it reminded him of home. He sighed, and he heard Udo do the same.

‘What’ve you got to be all contemplative about?’

‘Ever heard of the satisfaction of a job well done?’ Udo replied, not taking his eyes off his charge and his companion.

‘In the 469th? No.’ Kjars drained the last drops of his drink, and turned to pass the glass.

The lights were low, calculated to enhance the mood, and Udo’s face was highlighted by deep, dramatic shadows. He’d cleaned up for the occasion, washed and combed his ebony hair and shaved the bristly stubble off his face. It made him look younger. Not androgynous, but it was easy to see how he’d passed as a girl on his mission to England. With his dark features and his Tunisian shirt, he looked almost Caucasian or Tatar. Kjars’s spidery fingers held the tall glass, near where Udo was resting his own small, rough hand. They were opposites in every way. And still.

Kjars cleared his throat and nudged Udo’s hand with his own. The feel of skin on skin made his heart flutter, but he could pretend it was the drink. Udo took the glass.

‘Ready to start again?’

‘Ready to wrap up.’

Udo took a few steps toward the kitchen, but glanced back over his shoulder. ‘You’re driving me back to camp, okay?’

‘Jesus, what am I? Your damn slave?’

‘Don’t be a drama queen. The other two’re staying the night. You want me to walk back?’

‘Call your tribe, Arab Prince,’ Kjars snorted at his own joke, stretching his hands in preparation for the final suites of the night.

‘Great, let me just ask the operator for the nearest oasis.’ Udo put a hand on his hip. ‘C’mon. Kruger made loads of _kuchen_. There’s a bunch left, and I know where it is. You won’t get your share if you don’t help me out.’

‘You’re trying to bribe me with _cake_?’ asked Kjars, with slightly exaggerated outrage. Udo didn’t dignify this with a response, merely quirking an eyebrow. Kjars huffed. ‘Fine. But you already owed me for the first ride – and the _imprisonment_. This is another notch on your tally.’

‘Make sure you keep track!’ Udo laughed. He turned back to the kitchens to fetch dessert. ‘Collect enough of ‘em and get the grand prize!’

Kjars watched him disappear behind the door, then faced the piano. He was closing on something slightly improvised, a riff on Schubert he knew Pfirsich would enjoy – not that it mattered, of course. All under protest. With a deep breath, he let his fingers dance across the ivories, and as always, it was as if the music entered him from the fingernails, up through the arms, warming him all over until there was nothing left to consider, no propriety to worry about. Faintly, he heard Pfirsich gush over the cake Udo brought to the table – ‘ _where did you get this? How on Earth – and the piping is gorgeous!_ ’ – and he couldn’t help smiling. Tonight was alright. It was fun. And later, there’d be _Lebkuchen_.

\---

There wasn’t _Lebkuchen_.

Predictably, Kjars and Udo had bickered all the way back to the 469th, and by the time they got there, Kjars had forgotten all about the promised treat. By the time he remembered and went over to claim his prize the following day, Udo smugly told him that it was gone. Specifically, it was inside his stomach.

‘But you’re welcome to the leftovers after I stop by the latrines,’ he’d said, daring Kjars to react.

Showing restraint befitting a German officer, Kjars had simply walked away. He wouldn’t stoop to Udo’s level by even _responding_ to such a provocation. Sure, he may have snuck into the _Oberst_ ’s tent and snipped all the buttons, fastenings, and laces off Udo’s outfits the next time Udo’d accompanied Pfirsich on a visit to Field Marshall Rommel, but in that moment, he’d been the better man. And that’s what really mattered.

Hah.

Trudging through the snowy American camp, all of that seemed a lifetime ago. More than a lifetime ago. It felt as abstract and absurd as any of the silly stories Kjars had written. All he’d had to contend with were petty rivalries, ideological purity, and a lack of women. Now, his country was dying, his hand ached, his _Unteroffizier_ was burning up and going blind, and no one in this damn place was willing to give him anything to _do_.

Well. And there was a lack of women here, too. That hadn’t been much of an issue before Miki. He’d as good as forgotten about the embrace of the fairer sex after a few months in Europe. If he’d known how sharp that absence would feel, he wouldn’t have bothered with _her_ , either.

That wasn’t true.

He stood in front of the tent. Though it wasn’t late, the sun was setting. He didn’t really want to languish with a sick man, but there was no point staying out in the cold just to get glared at by all the _Amis_. Morton offered to ask about secretarial positions, or even kitchen help duties, but it’d be at least a few more days. Kjars pulled the flaps open and ducked inside.

Udo was asleep. Kjars took off his gloves, rubbed his hands together to warm them up. He knew from past experience that the cold medicine put Udo out for the count, so he didn’t make much of an effort to keep quiet when he went over, swept Udo’s bangs aside, and felt his forehead. Not quite normal, but definitely cooler than before. Good.

Before he could move away and settle in for an early night, Kjars noticed Udo’s field pack, wedged between the bed and the side of the tent, and a wicked little thought crossed his mind. Udo must really be looking forward to that chocolate. Maybe even more than Kjars had looked forward to his share of the _Lebkuchen_.

But would he be so petty as to steal a coveted treat from an ailing fellow countryman, all over a spat dating back years?

Absolutely.

With an evil grin, Kjars reached over Udo’s supine body, but try as he might, his long arms weren’t long enough to do more than scrape the back of the bag. He shot a quick glance at Udo, barely able to make him out in the penumbra, and risked shaking him a little. He didn’t budge, truly knocked out.

Right.

Bracing a knee against the side of Udo’s bed, Kjars leaned over and managed to get his hand into the very top of the pack. Still nothing. He needed to get closer. Grunting, he moved his other leg to sit astride his _Unteroffizier_ , finally able to rummage around until – yes! Kjars held the chocolate up with a flourish. Slightly nibbled on one corner, but perfectly serviceable. How would Udo feel about _that_?

Smirking, Kjars looked down in sneering triumph. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now. He could see Udo’s face clearly. And even with the bandage, and the stubble, and the sallow skin – he could still see those thick, dark eyelashes, that full bottom lip, that softness rounding out sharp features. His smaller frame lay between Kjars’s legs. It reminded Kjars of another time. Another place.

It reminded him of Miki.

No, it didn’t.

Yes. It did. Because if it didn’t, if he wasn’t just missing her – missing girls – then why was his heart beating like a drum, pumping blood up to his head and down to where his body lay on Udo’s?

His throat was dry. The chocolate was starting to melt between his index and forefinger. Shakily, Kjars put it back inside the field pack – though this only made him lean closer to Udo. Being taken in by the _Amis_ meant they’d finally been able to wash their bodies, their clothes, brush their teeth. Clean, cleaner than he and Miki had ever been. He could even smell the iodine soaking Udo’s wounded eye. If he turned off the rational part of his brain, he could catch the scent of hot sand and spices, feel the sun on his back.

Their lips brushed.

Kjars pulled back, slammed a hand over his mouth to stifle a scream. What the fuck was he doing? When the fuck did he get near enough to –

Udo made a little noise, turned his face just a touch. Was he actually asleep?

‘Udo,’ Kjars whispered. The name tasted strange. He so seldom used it.

Udo didn’t say anything.

Was that favour tally still running? How much could Kjars ask for?

No. He couldn’t think like that. Udo was his to protect, not to – use for whatever sordid ideas were –

Maybe he could pretend Kjars was his beloved _Oberst_. And Kjars could pretend Udo was Miki. Didn’t Udo suggest that?

But Udo didn’t have these – strange feelings for _Herr_ Rommel. He was teasing. He was joking. He was always trying to get a rise out of Kjars.

Well, he’d sure managed now. Kjars groaned into his palm, fighting to ignore the growing need in his lap. This was wrong. It always had been. In Africa, on the page, here –

Udo didn’t need to know. Kjars could work those feelings out. Evacuate them. And that’d be the end of it. A little blitz. In and out in no time.

‘Udo?’

Nothing but the slow rise and fall of a sleeping man’s chest.

Licking his dry lips, Kjars’s slender fingers went from his face down his body, to tremulously undo the buttons of his britches. Just once. And that’d be the end of it.

He closed his eyes and let his lips meet Udo’s. It was a chaste kiss, close-mouthed, but it was a throb of lust straight to his cock and it made him fumble more, faster, until he was out in the cold air, able to take himself in hand. He had to stop. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t know what to do. He stroked, tentative, feeling ridiculous.

Then Udo kissed back.

It wasn’t a passionate response. He was dreaming. Maybe acting on muscle memory. But he pushed back against Kjars’s lips, moved against them, and one hand twitched up to brush, perhaps even pull at the bottom of his shirt, and Kjars _moaned_ through clenched teeth, tightened his grip on himself, pumping like a man possessed – because he _was_ , in a way. He’d started off normal. He’d been normal all the way up to Africa –

Well, that wasn’t quite true –

It _was_ true. He no longer credited much of Nazi philosophy, but one thing was true: degeneracy was catching. It wasn’t his fault he’d started to see Udo through women’s eyes, it was an inevitability of his position among the wretched Afrika Korps.

And why had he ended up there in the first place?

Mercifully, everything went blank as he climaxed, focusing the last remaining shreds of his conscious mind on catching thick ropes of come in the palm of his hand. Breathing like he’d run a marathon, he rose up on his knees, unsteady, and tucked his softening dick back in his underwear. Through half-lidded eyes, he could see Udo breathe deeply, seemingly still under the spell of the medicine. Though he remained feverish, his cheeks were more brightly flushed than they ought to be, his lips shiny with spit. A lump that hadn’t been there before pressed up against Kjars’s ass. It should have been disgusting. But it only served to revive his cooling passion.

And that – that was too much. Undeniably male. Undeniably –

If that were the problem, he’d have stopped as soon as he felt Udo’s stubble.

Kjars got up off the bed, staggered back. He wiped the saliva off his mouth and chin with his sleeve. The ejaculate leaked through his fingers.

Outside, the sun had set, and gunfire echoed through the woods.

\---

‘Stop moving.’

Kjars held Udo’s chin in one hand, and carefully slid the razorblade down his cheek with the other. Waking up to find his fever significantly abated, the first thing Udo asked for that morning was a bath and a shave. He managed to wash, but the shakes were still enough of a problem that shaving was an issue. Both Germans’ safety razor handles had long since rusted to uselessness. They’d learned to make do with just the blades, riskily held between thumb and forefinger. This was a gamble at the best of times, and particularly when one couldn’t keep one’s hand steady.

After the third nick (and expletive) in a row, Kjars impatiently grabbed the blade from Udo and set about removing the itchy stubble himself.

‘Funny guy,’ Udo said. ‘Y’think I’m swayin’ like a club dancer for the fun of it? I got a dead eye boring a hole into my brain.’

‘Not _dead_ ,’ Kjars muttered, concentrating on the task at hand. He had to. Apart from the obvious need to leave his _Unteroffizier_ unharmed, if he didn’t focus on the shave, his eyes would drift to Udo’s mouth, his mind would drift to the previous night’s extended moment of weakness. And though he could hide a racing heart, he’d have more trouble disguising an erection when he and Udo were sitting so close together, facing each other, Udo’s knee between Kjars’ own.

‘Whatever you say, boss.’ His mouth twitched as if to smile, but he managed to suppress it. ‘This feels more like Africa, don’t it? Equipment missing and gone to shit, boys helpin’ boys –‘

‘I’ve got a knife to your face. Stop talking.’

Udo did. For a while. But he kept silent long enough for Kjars to finish shaving him.

On the way back to the tent, a severe man several ranks higher than the rest of the soldiers approached them. Kjars had seen him around camp, always with a cigarette on his lip, had deduced he was Miller, the American _Oberst_ , but they had yet to talk. Clearly, that was about to change.

‘You speak English?’ he said. His voice was gruff, but not unfriendly. Kjars nodded. ‘And him?’

‘He does not. Do you need to tell something to him?’

‘No. He can go.’

Udo looked on blankly, clearly relieved when Kjars motioned for him to leave.

‘Can I help you, er… _Herr_ Miller?’ Kjars asked, polite, worrying when he saw the man’s brow furrow.

‘ _Colonel_ Miller.’

‘ _Genau_. Excuse me, Colonel Miller. I learning still the American ranks.’ Kjars shifted, embarrassed. The P.O.W. armband felt more like a dunce cap, sometimes.

Miller nodded, more tired than hostile. ‘It’s alright. I can’t say I’m an expert in yours, either. But I know the boy, Schmidt, he’s, ah, under you.’

In a manner of speaking. Kjars nodded, red around the ears.

‘You two close?’

‘No!’ Kjars blurted out, a little too fast.

Miller frowned. ‘Morton says ya’ll were in Africa together.’

‘ _Na_ , yes,’ Kjars said guardedly, ‘we know each other long, but we are not _friends_. He is my soldier.’

‘Right. Heard ya’ll like to keep personal and work life separate. That’s good.’ He puffed on his smoke. ‘So you’d be okay with splitting?’

‘What is splitting?’

‘Separating.’

Kjars blinked. ‘Excuse me, Colonel Miller. Why we are splitting?’

‘We’re making good progress out there. Catching a lot of Krauts. We need a German speaks English to start sorting through them. Get some life stories. A lot of them don’t have papers, and we don’t know enough to figure out who’s lying.’ He paused, watching Kjars carefully. ‘Morton says you want to help us out. Got a bone to pick with Nazis, not a Party member yourself. Ain’t saying it’s permanent, but we could use someone like you at main camp, ‘least for now.’

This was a lot to take in. Kjars digested each sentence, carefully analysing it. If something got lost in translation, he might be in for a world of hurt. Concern returned to Miller’s face.

‘You understand what I said?’

‘Yes! Yes, I – I am understanding.’ He nibbled his dry lip. ‘But _Unteroffizier_ Schmidt’s disease?’

‘Folks say he’s perking up. That’s what we were waiting for. If things get worse, well, Dr. Pinto’ll have to sack up and help him out. He won’t be able to pawn it off on you anymore if you ain’t here.’

Kjars wanted to reply, but nothing sounded right. He cleared his throat. ‘When would I go?’

‘Monday morning. We got a couple boys heading there anyhow. You’d go with.’ He took a deep drag, smoke and vapour alike coming out of his nostrils in tiny puffs. ‘Couple days to say goodbye. Schmidt’ll be alright. Some folks here got a little German. He can help us talk to the natives, find more Veer-makt. You’ll see him again when we’re done taking this area. Couple months.’

‘You think that you shall win?’

A shot rang out, barely out of hearing range. Neither man looked away from the other.

‘What I think doesn’t matter. We _are_ winning. And folks who help us? We’ll remember them.’

‘Remember them?’

‘When it’s time to pay dues. And ya’ll have a Hell of a tally.’

Kjars understood. His hand ached.

\---

Udo spoke as soon as Kjars entered the tent:

‘You didn’t eat it!’

There, in the palm of Udo’s hand, lay the little chocolate. Kjars sat on the edge of his bed and shrugged.

‘I mean, you had all of last night,’ Udo continued. He set the chocolate down on his lap and went on unwinding the bandage from around his head, until his eye was exposed, = gauze sticking in place thanks to the iodine. It didn’t look like the wound had leaked. Small favours. ‘I even took the syrup to give you a chance. And you didn’t take advantage!’

Kjars swallowed dry, and said nothing. Concern flickered across Udo’s features.

‘ _Herr Hauptmann_. What’d the _Ami Oberst_ say?’

‘He complained. That we’re not pulling our weight.’ The words came by themselves. ‘I tried to tell him there’s not much we can do when no one’ll give us a chance, but…’

Udo seemed relieved to hear a simple explanation, something plausible that Kjars delivered with surprising authenticity. Readying the iodine and new gauze, Udo shrugged dismissively.

‘Fuck all that. They just wanna rub it in our faces. You ‘n me don’t see eye-to-eye – heh – on much, but you’re out there _tryin_ ’ to help ‘em out. Askin’, even. No pleasing people who don’t wanna be pleased. Learned that in the Kriegsmarine.’ He smirked. ‘Though working under you had its moments.’

Kjars pressed his lips together, then stood and pivoted to settle on Udo’s bed.

‘Let me do the bandage,’ he said, playing up a haughty tone. ‘You’ll just do it too tight or shove the gauze up your nose or something.’

‘I could shove it somewhere else, too.’

Nonetheless, he let Kjars take charge of the proceedings. With a practiced tenderness Kjars would never recognise or admit, he softly peeled off the used gauze and daubed on the antiseptic. American soldiers passed by, snippets of rapid, strange English drifting in. So different from the Tommies.

‘Maybe you should abuse the cold medicine more often,’ Kjars remarked. ‘First your fever breaks, now your eye’s looking a lot better.’

‘Dunno,’ Udo chuckled. ‘I mean, it’s fun, it makes you feel real loopy before you crash, but you have some _weird_ dreams.’

His blood ran cold, but Kjars didn’t let it show. Focus on the eye. The shades of purple and black and orange marring the skin. ‘Yeah? Like what?’

‘ _Na_ , I can’t even really remember. A bunch of dreams. Just know _Herr Oberst_ was in all of ‘em.’

Ah.

‘I think I’m missing the old days more than I let on,’ he said, with a guilty smile. ‘Least I’m dreaming again.’

‘We all miss the old days,’ said Kjars.

‘Hm.’

Udo’s good eye was closed. He always found it disorienting to have it open when the wounded one was being cared for. His eyelashes fanned on his cheek like the shadows of desert bushes, his hair the same colour and texture as that of so many Cedar girls. In three days, Kjars would suggest the cold medicine again. Once it had the intended effect, he’d ready his field pack, and leave the tent, and jump in a car to another _Ami_ camp. And all of these absurd, repulsive feelings could be buried even deeper than the guilt over Dagmar.

If Kjars’s creative writing exercises occasionally unearthed a bone or two, well, by that time, who else would know but him?

‘I hope he’s alright.’ Udo paused. ‘ _Herr Oberst_.’

‘Yeah,’ Kjars said, at length. ‘Me too.’ And he meant it.

Udo smiled. Kjars imagined he was playing back memories of happier times, projecting them on the inside of his eyelid. His own private screening room. Kjars wound the new bandage around and around Udo’s head, thinking that, if he could, he’d cover both eyes. Seal him in that perfect slice of time forever, and protect Kjars from ever having to see betrayal and judgement in that lit lump of coal of an iris if they ever crossed paths again.

Without thinking, Kjars picked up the chocolate from the bed, and pressed it against Udo’s lips.

‘You feel better. Eat your chocolate.’

And Udo did.


End file.
